


A Sworn Night of the Princeguard

by razielim



Series: Merry Smutmas 2018 [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:15:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razielim/pseuds/razielim
Summary: Jaime had had the honor of crossing swords with Rhaegar that morning. Now, he hears his Prince play sad music and blurts his question. Rhaegar only smiles and offers him a seat and a cup. A couple weeks later and they’ve made a habit of it. In an emotional moment, Jaime kisses Rhaegar’s hand, and Rhaegar turns it under Jaime’s lips until it’s all peppered with kisses, the moment tense and fragile. When Rhaegar stands and asks if Jaime would guard him all night, Jaime agrees…





	A Sworn Night of the Princeguard

Jaime Lannister sat on the very edge of his seat as the sky lost all sunlight, stiff in his armor and barely touching his wine goblet. He soaked in all of the prince’s presence, every word off his lips, certain that he’d never have a chance to be this close again.

Prince Rhaegar was in a peculiar sort of melancholy today, or else a very _generous_ mood.

Jaime had been drilling against a dummy that morning to vent his frustrations when Rhaegar had walked into the yard and offered to cross swords. For hours, as the sun had climbed steadily over the ramparts, they had thrust and parried, until the heat and the stench of the city below drove them to a halt, and they’d retreated to the cool stone halls. Flush with pride at the honor but entirely exhausted, Jaime had thought to take a small rest in his bed, either reliving the experience or drifting off into a dreamless sleep. But before he could take his leave at a turn in the hall, Rhaegar had said, “This way,” and led him all the way to a second story veranda overlooking the gardens, where a full meal was laid out for the prince’s repast.

It had been breezy and pleasant there, and at Prince Rhaegar’s encouragement, Jaime had sat down with him and eaten all he could reach while the prince quietly read letters and scrutinized documents. The day had only gotten stranger from there. As Jaime finished eating, a pleasant drowsiness dulling his senses, Rhaegar had started talking to him. It wasn’t at all the way the king talked to Jaime, as if he were a servant, a particularly wretched one, and it wasn’t how the other Kingsguard talked to Jaime, as if he were an endearing but utterly misplaced younger brother. In fact, Jaime didn’t think anyone had talked to him with such calm interest since he’d been sworn in.

Rhaegar had started listing observations from their training that morning, asking for Jaime’s opinions just as much as reviewing Jaime’s minor mistakes, but he eventually changed the subject to current affairs, asking what Jaime thought of the brewing tension across the Seven Kingdoms, and if Jaime had read about similar situations in history while growing up on the Rock. Embarrassed, but unwilling to lie, Jaime had admitted to his difficulties with reading. Rhaegar had abruptly sat back at that, though he made no comment. More ashamed than he’d ever been of this shortcoming before, Jaime kept his head down and listened to the chatter of birds.

Finally, Rhaegar surfaced from his thoughts, and started giving Jaime an account of the things _he_ had read, as if to fill in the gaps of Jaime’s knowledge rather than let him remain ignorant. It was all very interesting, for Rhaegar had a swift and insightful way of painting history, and with the servants refilling their goblets, hours ticked by unnoticed. However, all good things end, and eventually the prince stood, apologized for keeping Jaime from his duties, and sent him off.

Rather drunk, and totally overwhelmed by the incredible day he’d had so far, Jaime had rushed through strapping on his white armor. Ser Gerold had heard where he was and waved off all apologies, sending Jaime to join Ser Barristan in watching over the queen and her young son who were spending a quiet afternoon in the fragrance of the gardens.

Jaime had stood there, trying not to sway, probably smiling entirely way too much, reminiscing about his morning. As the wind picked up, chasing away the day’s heat and rustling the leaves overhead, Jaime was swept away into fantasies of spending every day with Prince Rhaegar, sparring and lunching as friends. Not bound by duties of the Kingsguard, Jaime would practice reading at his leisure, discovering new bits of martial history to discuss during meals. Rhaegar would consider Jaime knowledgeable, trustworthy, and a good conversationalist.

The wind picked up in speed and chill, the summery atmosphere of the morning long gone, and the queen and her son allowed themselves to be ushered inside, Jaime and Ser Barristan following silently in the wake of the happily chattering party of women and children.

As they took up their positions on either side of the doors to Queen Rhaella’s rooms, they were joined by Ser Oswell, who had news to share with Ser Barristan of tensions in the Riverlands. They spoke in hushed tones that didn’t welcome Jaime to the conversation, and he quickly sank back into his own thoughts.

Ser Oswell and Ser Barristan broke off suddenly, saluting Prince Rhaegar as he appeared around a corner with a book tucked under one arm and a letter in hand, aiming for his mother’s chambers. Jaime snapped to attention but only managed to mumble a half-formed greeting, embarrassed by the silliness and impossibility of his earlier daydreams. Rhaegar, however, favored him with a smile before he disappeared through the door.

Jaime dropped the salute and mentally kicked himself, feeling like an idiot. His sworn brothers resumed their conversation and had just gotten into a heated debate when Prince Rhaegar reappeared, looked around at all of them, and announced that he would be borrowing Ser Jaime for the evening.

Jaime stared after the prince as he walked away before realizing that _he_ was Ser Jaime. Wincing at the racket his armor made in the quiet hall, he jogged to catch up to the prince, who walked slowly to his rooms, nose in his book.

Again Jaime was invited to sit at a full table, though the prince remained absorbed in his reading for some time, now and then making notes on a nearby scroll. Jaime ate politely when prompted and tried not to stare at the preoccupied prince.

The rooms stood quiet. The prince’s wife and children were on Dragonstone, and there were only a small group of servants who moved about the space, lighting candles as the light from the windows failed to a deep purple.

Finally, the prince set his book aside, checked that the ink had dried on his parchment, and rolled it up, letting servants take both from him. He started on his dinner, once more striking up a dialogue that lifted Jaime up out of mundane reality and his own sense of social and intellectual inferiority to everyone in the keep. Rhaegar asked Jaime if he believed in prophesies, his views on the gods, then shared stories of past prophecies and their cataclysmic results, some of which Jaime had heard before, some of which had him on the edge of his chair in suspense.

And so he sat, as the last dim navy light on the horizon was snuffed out by the black of night, hanging off the prince’s every word, wondering what he’d done to be so lucky.

His mostly full cup was refilled, but Jamie continued to only sip it out of politeness, wary of how drunk he’d gotten at midday and unwilling to embarrass himself with sloppy behavior. Prince Rhaegar, however, seemed to loosen some as he continued to eat and drink, and finally stood to pull his chair closer, speak more urgently about the nature of prophecies. Caught up in the intimacy, Jaime found himself leaning in, watching not just how the prince’s mouth moved as he talked, but the way his eyes narrowed and flashed and how his strong hands smoothly gestured through his line of thinking. For the first time, up close and lit by candles, Jaime saw the prince as he thought Cersei might see him — charming and _handsome_. From this close and without any armor, Rhaegar did not appear, the way some men do no matter their state of dress, as the great swordsman that had always captured Jaime’s attention. Jaime watched enthralled as a lock of beautiful Targaryen hair came loose from behind the prince’s ear, tumbling forward and accentuating his jawline.

Jaime inched his goblet further away for good measure.

A servant brought Prince Rhaegar his harp, and he’d barely finished one song before Jaime dove after the shunned goblet to hide his misty eyes. Rhaegar played another and Jaime couldn’t keep his face from screwing up in misery at the deeply melancholy story. Here, in the candlelight, the prince’s music only for Jaime’s ears, the rest of the world seemed to fall away and the words of the song sounded so painfully lonely. He wiped his nose and drank deeply. When Rhaegar fell silent once more, Jaime begged for mercy.

“Your Grace,” he said. “Please don’t reduce me any further.”

Rhaegar seemed to come out of a trance, and, seeing the state Jaime was in, set the harp aside with a light laugh. Jaime drank more wine as soon as his cup was refilled and looked away. He’d never been present to hear the prince laugh before.

“My apologies, Ser Jaime. It seems my music has gotten more morose than usual lately,” Rhaegar said, taking another bite of sausage, another sip of wine.

“Why?” Jaime asked, not meaning to say it out loud and freezing when the prince looked up at him. “Forgive me,” he stuttered immediately, but Rhaegar leaned closer, elbow elegantly perched on the armrest of his chair, and studied Jamie without saying anything.

Jaime fidgeted in his seat.

Finally, Rhaegar sighed and reached forward, clapping a hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “Why indeed,” was all he said before turning back to his meal, face set back in its usual sad lines, as though to say that a sadness which could not be put to words was the worst of all.

Jaime recalled his daydreams from earlier and wished he _were_ a deep friend of the prince, so that he could say something bracing and chivalrous like, _“I would do anything to take some of your sadness.”_ It wasn’t his place however, so he sat silent, and eventually forked more fowl onto his plate and picked at it distractedly. Father would have probably rolled his eyes and called him naive if he’d ever heard Jaime say something of the like.

Eventually, Rhaegar picked up the conversation again, this time on the subject of poetry and epic tales, and how many tales could be interpreted as teaching that grief and sadness are _blessings_ of the Seven rather than weaknesses to cover with rage. Jaime chewed on this as he ate, and finally ventured to speak.

“Are you saying, Your Grace, that the world would be a better place if more people felt sadness more strongly?”

Rhaegar gave a noncommittal wave of his head, and corrected him, “I’m saying that people do terrible things if they deny themselves sadness. Betrayals, murders, violent acts of jealousy… The list goes on, and nothing is solved so long as we displace our sadness onto others instead of being brave enough to face it ourselves.”

“But then the whole world would just be very depressing, wouldn’t it?” asked Jaime, already starting to feel depressed by the very thought.

Rhaegar smiled at him. That graceful, mournful face broke into such warmth that Jaime’s breath caught. “Not if we all spent a little more time to care about and ease the sadness of others.”

Rhaegar looked away and reached for his goblet, but Jaime remained watching his beautiful face, deeply moved by the simple sentiment.

He broke out of his reverie when a hot tear splashed onto his cheek, and he jerked, drawing a curious glance from Rhaegar.

“Ser Jaime!” Rhaegar exclaimed and shifted his chair closer still, laughing softly and reaching up a long pale finger to wipe under Jaime’s eye as Jaime sat paralyzed with embarrassment. But Rhaegar’s voice was warm and as he cupped the base of Jaime’s skull, he said, “If everyone was as good of heart and quick to shed tears as you, there’d _never_ be another war!”

Jaime wiped furiously at his treacherous eye. “I don’t usually…” he tried to say, but Rhaegar’s thumb brushed his hair.

“I won’t tell a soul,” the prince whispered, still smiling softly yet brightly enough to twist Jaime’s heart.

Jaime met the prince’s eyes and again found himself caught in the warmth there, as if Jaime’s daydreams had long ago come true and he had been the prince’s dear friend all along. Prince Rhaegar’s eyes were the softest taupe in the candlelight, their cold amethyst hues all dulled, and Jaime noticed for the first time how beautifully shaped his eyes were — the perfect symmetry, the feline grace. Prince Rhaegar retracted his hand from Jaime’s neck, fingertips brushing across Jaime’s ear and cheek and leaving behind lightning. Before he could think about consequences, Jaime caught that hand in his own.

The prince’s face flashed shock and royal indignation before settling into an unblinking curiosity, and Jaime, wanting to repent, quickly pressed his lips to the soft skin between Rhaegar’s knuckles. Rhaegar blinked, watching him, and Jaime watched him back in apprehension.

Then Rhaegar’s tense posture melted and with a bit of mischief twinkling in his eyes, he turned his hand under Jaime’s lips, his eyebrow just barely twitching up with challenge. Jaime kissed his hand there too, on the bony part just above the thumb’s knuckle. Rhaegar turned his hand again, and this time Jaime kissed a callus, then closed his eyes and kissed every callus his lips could find on Rhaegar’s palm, screwing up his face when he felt more tears threaten to fall.

He’d certainly had too much wine. Or else he’d certainly been in the prince’s presence for too long.

Jaime turned the hand in his trembling fingers, kissing beautiful skin, toughened here and there by the prince’s sword but without a single fault. No calluses could ruin such perfection, only prove it more resilient.

When his wandering lips found the inside of the prince’s wrist, brushing against Rhaegar’s sleeve, Rhaegar turned his hand, reaching up to brush his fingers over Jaime’s face, easing the mounting anguish Jaime had stirred up within himself.

Jaime opened his eyes.

Rhaegar’s face was so close Jaime was surprised he hadn’t noticed. A lone finger traveled from Jaime’s cheekbone to his lower lip, followed hungrily by Rhaegar’s eyes.

“Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar said, his voice husky and thrilling, “would you guard me tonight?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Jaime whispered hoarsely, and shuddered when the prince leaned forward to kiss his temple.

Then Rhaegar stood, and Jaime’s numb sense of wonder drained from him in an instant as he stood to follow. Excitement simmered in his belly and fear shook his limbs. Did he wishfully misunderstand? Surely he wasn’t worthy of such an honor. Jaime stumbled after Prince Rhaegar’s sweeping cloak like a drunkard, certain that any moment now, the prince would turn and chastise him for presuming.

But Rhaegar walked gracefully to a chair, pulling off his sword and cloak, and said nothing as Jaime stepped over the threshold of his royal bedchamber. Jaime stood rooted to the floor five paces away, noting the conspicuous lack of servants, the large bed…

Rhaegar turned to him and Jaime took a half step back, ready for the order to leave. But the prince only smiled and approached slowly, hands reaching for the clasp of Jaime’s cloak. He bent forward to work loose Jaime’s right vambrace when Jaime realized what a travesty it was to let a prince do the work of a squire, and he hurried to do it himself. In his haste, he found himself so close to the prince that warm breath condensed on his ear, and he froze again as confident fingers covered his own on the vambrace, halting his actions. A kiss on his ear. Jaime looked up at that, and received a kiss on the mouth.

“Let me,” Rhaegar said.

Trembling, Jaime yielded to the prince’s will. Rhaegar moved quickly, letting a piece of armor clatter loudly now and then as he set it aside. Jaime flushed furiously and protested once more when Rhaegar kneeled before him to get the last of the plate off. Rhaegar, however, only smiled widely as if at a joke and continued, humming something quiet and ethereal.

Finally, Rhaegar stood and took Jaime’s face in his hands, drawing him towards the bed. Jaime’s eyes were still damp and his cheeks were red at the sacrilege of being waited on by royalty, but he stumbled along eagerly, lost in those eyes, eager to please, desperate to be ever closer to his shining prince.

Rhaegar kissed him then, and Jaime leaned into it, responded, delicately brought his hands to the prince’s face. They stood, kissing, swaying, now and then remembering to take another step to the bed, until Jaime was breathless and clutching Prince Rhaegar’s clothing in a way that was entirely too bold.

The prince pulled away, tapered fingers lightly undoing Jaime’s simple garment, pushing the fabric off Jaime’s shoulders, his touch cool against Jaime’s sweaty skin, doubling back to roam over Jaime’s chest. Jaime felt like a dumb servant boy in that moment, tricked into bed by his lord, easily allowing anything be done to him. How many boys his age were similarly being undressed throughout all of Westeros right now? How many girls? Was Jaime as simple as them? Father would surely think so. His sworn brothers too. But he couldn’t stop those hands on him. Not out of fear or fealty, but for a small moment of happiness, being close to someone so perfect. No other lord in the seven kingdoms had such pull as Prince Rhaegar.

Feeling bold, wanting to shake off how defenseless he felt and hungry to see the prince allow him liberties, Jaime reached for Rhaegar’s fine clothes to work them open. Rhaegar stopped his own motions and graciously yielded to Jaime’s ministrations, hands settling around Jaime’s waist as he waited.

Baring the prince to the waist, Jaime stopped, fingertips lingering on the Prince’s smooth muscles. Rhaegar’s smile turned amused.

He meant to ask whether he could continue, but instead — “Why me, Your Grace?”

Rhaegar pulled the dangling laces of Jaime’s hose teasingly, the clothing just waiting for an excuse to slip the rest of the way off.

“Should I call for a serving boy instead? A page?” Rhaegar asked, slipping a finger under the fabric and letting his knuckle brush the skin there. Jaime’s cock slipped to one side, and his pants fell off to halfway down his thighs, caught around the thick muscle. Rhaegar wasn’t watching, his eyes still on Jaime’s.

“I’d rather you not,” Jaime said.

Rhaegar took Jaime by the elbows and lowered him onto the bed, pulling off the last of the hose and leaning in to kiss Jaime’s jaw. “Then perhaps that’s why you’re here.”

Jaime thought he liked that answer. He wasn’t sure, but it sounded like the prince had noticed how Jaime adored him, wanted to _be_ him, wanted to be _close_ to him. It sounded like being here was Jaime’s choice, or else it was the Seven smiling down on him for showing such devotion to his lord.

Rhaegar kissed down Jaime’s neck, soft kisses that turned wet and passionate as they got to Jaime’s collarbone. Curious, excited, Jaime wriggled and squirmed to pull at the prince’s hose, looking down past the prince’s chest and stomach to watch as the clothing fell off his flushed cock and down to silver-haired thighs.

Still, Jaime thought, his body reacting to the sight, why today?

“If it’s not too bold to ask, Your Grace,” Jaime ventured, eyeing the prince’s cock with the realization that never in a million years did he dream he’d see the distant, radiant prince in such a state with his own two eyes. Not unless he ever needed to save Rhaegar’s life mid-coitus as a member of the Kingsguard. “Is something troubling you?”

Rhaegar kneeled back before him, his warm hands splayed on Jaime’s thighs. “My whims seem to have run off without my consent, drowning my sorrows in this way. It does bother you, then, my asking you here for such selfish needs?”

“No, Your Grace!” Jaime insisted, chagrined by the prince’s guilt. “Please, Your Grace, I’m happy to ease any burden you carry. And if my company is what you need, it’s hardly any price at all.”

“Ah, Ser Jaime. Your affections are sweeter than I deserve,” Rhaegar said, following leisurely as Jaime crawled backwards into the center of the mattress. “I wish that I could fulfil your tender desire to be a friend and tell you what has weighed on my mind so much.”

Jaime swallowed down his disappointment and bit back further curious questions. He dropped his gaze, ashamed of how obvious his emotions had been, but Rhaegar halted his retreat across the sheets with one hand on Jaime’s hip.

“Do not regret your curiosity or your openness. Alas that I must leave first thing tomorrow or I would indulge and reward both,” Rhaegar whispered to him as he covered Jaime’s body with his own, slotting them together comfortably.

“Leave? For where?”

Rhaegar moved against him and Jaime’s knees twitched up, his thighs clinging to one of Rhaegar’s as their smooth bellies tickled each other with soft hairs. “You’ll find out soon enough,” Rhaegar replied simply.

They dissolved into a series of long kisses. Rhaegar occasionally squeezed the tip of Jaime’s cock to full hardness until Jaime was quivering under him then let go to allow Jaime to melt back into the sheets as the need ebbed. Jaime couldn’t find a place to rest his hands, wanting to grab and pull Prince Rhaegar closer, tighter, but not daring to bend so much as a hair out of place. Reverently skimming every inch of skin, Jaime kissed with eyes open, watching the candlelight glimmer across silver strands through crossed eyes, his whole world a blurry dazzle of bronze and diamond.

Curiosity finally won over his resolve not to grab anything and Jaime’s light swipe across the prince’s hip bone became a dive down between their pelvises, a thrill shooting up Jaime’s spine at the thought of actually holding Prince Rhaegar’s royal cock in his hand. He snorted right into their kiss as he thought that and Rhaegar pulled away.

“A lesser man might be offended,” the prince commented, pushing his hips down into Jaime’s grip.

Struggling to school his features, Jaime gasped, feeling more breathless than he’d realized, “I’m sorry, Your Grace. It’s just the _idea_...”

Rhaegar’s smile, wry, bordered on an expression that Jaime would have thought beneath the gentle prince. And yet, why not? Why not come face to face with the reality that Prince Rhaegar was more than the faces he allowed to show in in public? The cock that twitched in Jaime’s hand was only the physical and least significant aspect of what was normally denied to those who weren’t intimate with the prince. Jaime kissed Rhaegar, again overwhelmed by adoration and a quivering desire to know the prince as well as his closest confidants and family did. So desperate was he, that, before he could think the action through, he finally dared to do the thing that would on any other day have seemed sacrilege to him. His fingers slid into Rhaegar’s beautiful tresses. Soft, so soft, and, as they continued to kiss, as Rhaegar insistently pressed his cock into Jaime’s hand, Jaime dug his fingers in deep, fist full of smooth, thick hair. The perfume in it warmed and rekindled under his touch, bathing them in sweet scent.

“Ser Jaime…” Rhaegar breathed, breaking away to kiss down Jaime’s cheek to his ear and bite there softly.

Jaime waited for him to say something further, but Rhaegar gave no further comments, kneeling up, his cock pulled from Jaime’s hand, his own palms wandering over Jaime’s chest and belly, fingers tracing the few scars Jaime had accumulated in his sixteen years, appreciatively pinching the taut skin, and kneading muscle with full-bodied groans until Jaime felt like he might be the most well-shaped knight the prince had ever seen. He suspected he was outright glowing at receiving the flattering attention of someone who was himself so beautiful and so perfectly sculpted.

When Rhaegar pulled at Jaime’s left hip, Jaime rolled easily, without a thought, until Rhaegar’s appraising hands slid from their thorough exploration of his shoulders and upper back to his waist, then lower still…

Breathing evenly into the sheets, Jaime kept his lower half relaxed, but his stomach clenched instinctually. Surely the prince would be gentle and there was nothing to fear? Surely the prince didn’t intend this as an insult, his tastes only naturally inclined this way? Fingers locking to fists in the sheets, Jaime resolved to trust in the prince’s goodness and ignore the heat in his cheeks.

Rhaegar crawled off of Jaime’s legs and the bed, and Jaime’s intestines tied themselves in knots, buckling at his resolve to stay still for this. When Rhaegar returned and placed an oiled hand on Jaime’s thigh, his self-control snapped. His leg twitched hard away from the contact.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” he mumbled, “It’s cold.”

“Oh, young Ser Jaime,” Rhaegar said, laying down alongside him and kissing the back of Jaime’s blushing neck. “It’s I who must apologize, isn’t it? I had no intention of frightening or humiliating you.” He kissed across Jaime’s shoulders as he spoke. “I should have realized that —”

“It’s alright if it’s you, Your Grace!” Jaime interrupted, his face now fully buried in the sheets, his neck feeling hotter than ever. He meant every word, but nonetheless, if it ever got out of this room, he’d die of shame.

Rhaegar didn’t move. “If you’re sure…”

Jaime nodded vigorously, spreading his knees somewhat, and trying not to think of what Father would say if he found out.

Rhaegar’s slick fingers returned to Jaime’s thigh, a solid, heavy touch that didn’t tickle or feel cold like the first brush had. The prince lathered the inside of Jaime’s thigh and Jaime’s tension melted. In none of Prince Rhaegar’s behavior was there evident the depravity of a thief come to steal precious honor from Jaime. Instead, the prince’s confident movements were like those that had come before, conveying friendliness, camaraderie, and a willingness to share his time and attention with a young knight who had no one else to count as a friend in this castle.

Rhaegar sat up to nudge Jaime’s knees together, running his hand between his thighs, lingering to playfully stroke Jaime’s balls from behind, and Jaime relaxed further, enjoying the sensations and reassurances that were given him. He’d made the right choice, trusting that Rhaegar wouldn’t take without giving at least something in return.

Then the prince climbed on top of him and Jaime’s breath caught. He felt the head of Rhaegar’s cock brush his ass, brush the crease just below it, then press between his legs and…

The thick cock slipped right between where his thighs met ass, and Jaime felt it slide right across to press against his balls. A few exploratory thrusts and then Rhaegar seemed to settle into a rolling, easy pace, guiding Jaime’s left thigh to press closer to his right. More relieved than he wanted to admit, Jaime came up on his elbows, looking curiously over his shoulder as the prince draped over him like a blanket and kissed him.

It was a difficult angle to kiss from, his neck aching, but Jamie was happy to endure it. Hosting his sovereign lord between his thighs, _possessing_ him in a manner of speaking, was a surprisingly heady sensation. Slick with oil, their bodies made wet, obscene noises against one another that did more for Jaime’s appetite than facing each other had and he squeezed his legs more tightly together to elevate the sensations. Rhaegar smiled widely into the kiss, then trailed off to kiss Jaime’s neck, letting him hang his head more comfortably. It wasn’t long before Jaime couldn’t resist any longer and had to reach down under himself to take his own cock in hand, replacing the clammy feeling of moist sheets with hot pressure and groaning as pleasure approached in leaps and bounds with every thrust Rhaegar made against him.

Not thinking ahead to extend his pleasure, Jaime came hard, realizing his mistake as it happened, but surrendering to the orgasm and riding it for all it had to offer. His legs went stiff, locking around Rhaegar, and he drooled into the sheets, groaning loudly.

Rhaegar slowed… then stopped.

Climbing off, he stretched out beside Jaime. Once Jaime had the strength to open his eyes, he found Rhaegar lounging with his head propped up in one hand. With his other, Rhaegar lazily stroked his cock, his gaze traveling the length of Jaime’s spent body. Meeting Jaime’s eyes, he smiled softly.

“I think you enjoyed that,” Rhaegar said.

“I think so too, Your Grace,” Jaime agreed, grinning.

Rhaegar fell onto his back and groaned. “Wouldn’t it be nice to only ever do things you enjoy? Just think, you and I, for all our duties, have more leisure than most who live in the Seven Kingdoms. And still it never feels like enough. Tomorrow, you will rise and stand guard at my mother’s garden, and I will ride where duty to the kingdom calls. There are simply no other options.”

Shifting, Jaime reached out to lace his fingers with Rhaegar’s over his hard cock. “It’ll be nice to think of tonight while standing guard, though.”

“Yes, these quieter moments tend to give strength for all the rest of it, don’t they?”

“And looking forward to more. Wondering if…” Jaime trailed off, wide eyes locked onto the prince’s calm ones.

Rhaegar hummed, blinking in agreement, moving close so they could kiss again, but Jaime pulled him further, inviting him on top. He crossed his shins, clenched his thighs, and slotted Rhaegar in, pleased when Rhaegar moaned and started thrusting again.

“Do you ever do this the other way?” Jaime asked breathlessly, watching Rhaegar’s face melt into contentment. “The way… The way I _thought_ you would have me?”

“Mm,” the prince seemed to be too close to his goal to answer immediately. “Only if my bedpartner is enthusiastic for it.”

Jaime flushed, remembering how nervous he’d been. “What if I’m only curious?”

For a moment, it looked like the prince might actually curse, his lips unexpectedly baring teeth, but then he quietly buried his face in Jamie’s neck and released hotly between Jaime’s thighs.

Panting, Rhaegar stayed immobile for a while.

Then he began to chuckle. Pulling off Jaime and kissing up to his ear, he whispered, still breathless, “If that’s the case, then perhaps when I return, we’ll see if I can’t make your curiosity blossom into enthusiasm.”

Jaime had to bite his lip to keep from grinning like an idiot, finally getting a solid indication of Rhaegar’s willingness to repeat this wonderful day. Rhaegar noticed and kissed his nose.

“Perhaps. But it might be a long while before I return.”

“Are you being sent somewhere by the King?”

Rhaegar didn’t answer. He was already testing out the feeling in his limbs and climbing off the bed, gesturing that Jaime should follow, pointing to a basin and towels.

Some of the happy glow faded as Jaime cleaned himself up, trying to scrub his and Rhaegar’s essences from where it had coated his leg hair. He didn’t want today to end, to go back to the White Sword Tower and go to bed alone. Nothing could have prepared Jaime for Rhaegar pulling back the sheets and inviting him in.

Jaime stood gaping.

“It’ll be a long journey for me. I would appreciate a night in someone’s embrace before I go,” Rhaegar said simply.

Wary of his knees and elbows and how one ought to properly embrace a prince, Jaime climbed in, and Rhaegar extinguished the light in the room. But they fit together comfortably, and within minutes, the prince’s silver head on his chest, Jaime fell asleep.

✘✘✘✘✘✘✘

Jaime woke to find a servant in the room. Groaning, Jaime sat up, but the servant studiously continued to pretend that Jaime wasn’t there as he moved about, tidying the room. A letter was in Jaime’s lap.

Breaking the seal, Jaime read as fast as he was able.

_Ser Jaime, I was most pleased that no one knew my plans as I got ready this morning. For keeping my secrets, you have my thanks. We will talk more when I return._

The letter was left unsigned.

Jaime looked around. He was alone in the room again. He smiled and started thinking of a good hiding place for the letter.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find more ficlets, imagines, sketches, and paintings on my pillowfort, [razielim](https://www.pillowfort.io/razielim), where I've currently set up residence. Adults only.
> 
> You can also [download all of Smutmas as a PDF](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1oh9x41sqzm-WUpeUA9g942ioQpmd1n77/view?usp=sharing) this year! :D


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